Mother Hen
by GigglingWoodElf
Summary: Sometimes, Holmes just needed to be taken care of.


Mother Hen  
Note: This can or cannot be slash depending on your perception of it. It can be romantic I'd you want, but if you prefer, it can be platonic, strong friendship.  
"Doctor?" Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. She paused a moment before walking in.  
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, how may I be of assistance?" Watson asked, peering over the top of the newspaper. His legs were crossed, one ankle over the other knee, his hat resting atop the knee precariously.  
"Mr. Holmes has called for you. Luckily, all firearms have been put away," She said, juggling the tray of tea in her hands.  
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I shall see to him." Watson set down the paper and put on his hat. He gave a curt nod, and passed Mrs. Hudson on his way out of the door.  
He made his way to Holmes' room with little haste, expecting a trivial matter to be brought to his attention by Holmes. He entered the room with only a swift, soft passing knock.  
"Holmes?" He asked, walking into the dark room. A candle was the only source of light.  
The only reply was a soft grunt.  
Watson made his way to the spot where the consulting detective had nestled himself on the floor. He was on his side, curled into a loose ball. His right hand was resting on his cheeks, moving silently as he mumbled mutely to himself.  
"Old chap, are you alright?" Watson asked, taking in the way Holmes was shaking and how his eyes were drooping closed as if very near sleep, "Have you been at the needle recently, Holmes?"  
"I'm quite sober, good doctor."  
"Then why have you called for me? What is the problem?" Watson couldn't help but smirk.  
"Stop your toying with me, Watson. You very well know, what I need." Holmes was not pouting. No, sir, it was definitely a scowl.  
"Indeed. Shall I get Mrs. Hudson to draw you a bath?" Watson offered, stripping his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.  
"That would be for the best, yes," Holmes replied, his hand slipping down to sit on the side of his mouth. The tip of his thumb poked in between the lips, his thumbnail hooking onto his front teeth.  
Watson did just that. Mrs. Hudson nodded and went to the task of filling the basin.. The doctor went onto a different one.  
"Alright, Holmes, lets get off some if these clothes." Watson got Holmes sitting up, and helped him to strip down to his only his trousers.  
After a couple of minutes, Watson helped Holmes down the stairs and into the washroom. He took off the rest of the close and aided him in stepping into the tub.  
Holmes soaked, eyes closed, and relaxed. He leant his head back to allow easier access as Watson washed his hair. The doctor massaged the shorter man's scalp as he worked the soap into the locks of dark hair.  
Five minutes of that, and Watson rinsed out the suds, mindful of getting it in Holmes' eyes. Holmes had yet to open his eyes and was becoming more and more relaxed.  
"Alright, old boy, let me wash your body now," Watson said in a soft murmur as he soaped the rag and began to scrub Holmes' body gently.  
Fifteen minutes later, the two were back in Holmes' room. The detective was dressed in his nightgown, despite it only being early evening. His hair was slightly damp with what couldn't be towel dried.  
"How about we get some food in your belly?" Watson suggested.  
"Yes, that sounds good, my dear friend." Holmes felt his lips upturn in a rare, true smile.  
"What would you like, Holmes?" Watson asked.  
"Tea and biscuits."  
"No, real food, first," Watson scolded halfheartedly.  
"Very well, I'd much enjoy a simple piece of toast, perhaps with some jam," Holmes asked, for once surprising Watson by not being difficult. The doctor smiled and went to get the food. In a couple passing minutes, he returned with the tray of food.  
He was not shocked when Sherlock made no move to touch the items and just sat still in his chair at the table. Watson spread the grape jelly on the piece of bread, then cut it into fourths. It was a simple skill, but Watson had practiced so often, that it took no effort, no concentration, and no thinking.  
"Here, old boy." Watson put a fourth to Holmes' lips. He took a bite, not making any move to actually take the piece from Watson.  
Watson continued to feed Holmes until both pieces of toast were gone, and the glass of milk had only a third of its contents left, "There's a good lad." Watson praised.  
Holmes practically beamed at that, despite him denying it later.  
"Let's get you settled into bed, now," Watson said, pulling Holmes up gently by the elbow. He guided him to the bedroom and sat him in his side of the bed. Content, Holmes sat on the edge of the bed, his feet hanging down over the think quilt they used during the winter. He watched as Watson pulled the shades closed enveloping the room in darkness. Watson quickly lit the lamp on Holmes' side of the bed.  
"Here we go, mate." Watson pushed on the detectives chest until he was laying down, head on pillow, and pulled the blanket out from under his warm, clean body. He tucked the quilt around Holmes' body, making sure the shorter man was properly cocooned and ready with the winter's cold night.  
"Goodnight, dear Holmes." Watson pressed a chaste kiss to Holmes' temple.  
Holmes smiled, and brought his thumb into his mouth, sucking on it lightly.  
As Watson blew out the lamp and moved away, Holmes grabbed his wrist, halting his movement, "Stay, Mother Hen."  
"Alright. Just until you fall asleep." Watson complied and crawled in the bed, forming the larger spoon around Holmes.  
Holmes' breaths even out and Watson didn't move, warm and comfortable in his spot against Holmes. He like when Holmes was like this; quiet, compliant, and adorable.  
Sometimes, Holmes just needed to be taken care of.


End file.
